


As Friendship Comes

by easorian (barronblack)



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-14
Updated: 2015-01-14
Packaged: 2018-03-07 13:57:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3175448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/barronblack/pseuds/easorian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Dorian tries to befriend Krem and embarrasses himself in a game of strength.</p>
            </blockquote>





	As Friendship Comes

It sneaks up on him with alarming subtlety, but he’s found some measure of acceptance when he least expects it. Hard to fit his mind around, and doing so leads to truths he’d rather not face. But still, now that he’s had a taste of what might become friendship, he can’t keep himself from trying to uncover more of it. So like a man dying of thirst, Dorian Pavus finds himself weaving through Skyhold’s tavern in search of the Chargers’ Tevinter lieutenant. Finds himself searching for common ground with a _soporati_ he’d never once speak to back home nor grace with a second thought.

These days, he thinks about many things.

The man is tucked into a comfortable corner drinking with a Dalish woman, and Dorian invades their conversation without first checking to see if they’ve noticed him. Of _course_ they have.

“Ah, fellow Tevinter scum. Care to talk?”

The lieutenant doesn’t reply for some time, bottle halted partway to his lips. Then, finally: “Right.”

“Given we’re all killing the same people, we should at least be on speaking terms, yes?”

“You’re speaking, I’m speaking. Good enough for me.”

Awkward. “I was also hoping to find a way to even the ground between us, given we are free from the generous arms of our homeland and the usual barriers. It’s all very tiresome.”

Dalish leans back against the wall, pinning her staff and looking content to observe. The lieutenant is on his own. He finishes taking a drink and sets it down, rolling the bottle upright between his fingers.

“‘Barriers.’ Nice way of putting it. She’s Dalish, I’m Krem. We know who you are.”

Dorian inclines his head and refuses to retreat in the face of a chilly reception. He’s used to it. “I should hope so. I’m hard to miss.”

Krem’s eyes are downcast, his smile dismissive and easy and covering an old, faceless resentment. “Want to play a game, then? Basic arm wrestle. But… everyone knows _alti_ can’t hold their own in real contests worth a damn. If they do, it’s because they’re cheating bastards.”

Their little corner of the tavern is dark with promise as Dorian oozes into place across from the warrior. Dalish makes room for him. “Is that so?” he asks, tone light. He deliberately leans on an upper-class accent, vowels round and separated. Trying to get a rise. “This _altus_ doesn’t cheat.”

Krem cocks an eyebrow and braces his elbow on the table before grasping Dorian’s offered hand. His skin is rough and thick from years of cracked pommels and sun-baked gauntlets. “Uh-huh.”

“Much.”

“Cheat and I’ll make sure everything you drink here is ditch water. Bartender likes me fine and all the servers are in the Chief’s pocket. So to speak.”

Dorian grimaces. “Noted. Shall we?”

“Right. Three, two, one—”

_Bang._

The mage distantly wonders if every bone in his hand is now powdered regret. Pain catches up a few moments later, but his pride is stinging more brightly. Eyes watering, he pushes their arms into starting position.

“Merely a warm-up.”

Krem is grinning, grip tightening. “Best three out of five, then.”

————-

The game is short and a blur of struggle punctuated with inevitable suffering.

“That’s three for me. You better start healing those knuckles,” suggests Krem, stretching his disgustingly undamaged appendages and seeming to revel in bloodying his opponent. “Nearly split them just now, I’d wager.”

“Already split,” murmurs Dalish, speaking for the first time.

Dorian flexes his fingers as far as he can stand it. “Is everyone in this organization an ungracious winner?”

He sweeps up to his feet with the intention of taking Krem’s suggestion when the mercenary coughs to get his attention. “Uh, hey. Not bad, almost made me work for it. You’re welcome to drink with us whenever. Us Vints gotta stick together, right?”

It catches him by surprise. He hadn’t really hoped… “I—yes. I’d like that.”

Dorian leaves the tavern feeling a little bit more like he really can build a place for himself here, that there is an ‘us’ within reach. It feels warm. Though that might be the inflammation in his hand spreading. He sucks the blood off wryly and pulls on the Fade.


End file.
